


Feedback

by thedevilchicken



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Interrogation, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 02:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Grievous is in Republic custody and Obi-Wan is assigned to the interrogation. In his pursuit of answers, his tactics become somewhat unorthodox.





	Feedback

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shanlyrical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanlyrical/gifts).



There is no part of Grievous still remaining that can feel, because those parts of him no longer exist. They've been replaced with plates and wires and motors, servos, sensors, and synthetic oils where blood should be. There's not much left of who he was at all. 

Obi-Wan would like to feel compassion for him, even now, because that is a Jedi trait. He would like to see beyond the metal mask and behind the tech-enhancement of his eyes into the man that he once was, before this. He would like to see before the shuttle crash, before the Yam'rii Crisis, when he was Qymaen jai Sheelal and not yet General Grievous. 

He would like to, but he can't. In their sessions together, those memories are closed to him; he cannot pry them open, much as he has tried. From time to time, it crosses his mind that they could be closed to Grievous, too. Perhaps that's what the process did to him.

Obi-Wan would like to feel compassion, but denying him that seems to fill his captive with a tireless, gloating sense of victory. They kept each other on edge that way for the first three weeks of Grievous's confinement, but then Obi-Wan tried a different tack. It's proved much more effective than the others, though he hopes he's never required to explain its operations to the Council. 

"Do you miss it?" Obi-Wan asked, that first time, and Grievous glared his silent response. He was unable to move with his feet magnetised to the floor and his arms to the table; Obi-Wan had been required to remove everything metal from his person before entering. 

"Sensation, I mean," he clarified as he went on. "I understand you feel nothing." 

"I'll feel it when I kill you, Jedi," Grievous said. "I'll take great pleasure in it." 

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. He crossed his legs at the knee there at his own side of the table, leaning back as he stroked his beard. Grievous watched him, his eyes sharp.

"While I'm sure that's true, that's not exactly the kind of sensation I'm referring to," Obi-Wan said. "I'm talking about physical sensation. Hot and cold. Breeze on your skin. The sharp edge of a sword. Those things. Things you might have felt when you still had a body and not just a collection of spare parts." He raised his brows. He leaned forward, his hands against the tabletop. "Do you miss it?"

"No," Grievous said, but if he'd had a jaw, it would have been clenched. 

Obi-Wan sat back again. "I don't believe you," he said, cheerfully. "Shall we find out?"

He reached out toward him with one hand, his fingers splayed, and he closed his eyes. He reached out toward him with the Force, toward the mind he'd felt so many times behind the mask. The mind trick hadn't worked with Grievous, nor had he truly expected it would, but that was by no means the only weapon in his arsenal; Obi-Wan reached out toward Grievous's mind and while the general readied barriers against intrusion, as he had before, that was the time. 

One deft mental sidestep and he made a connection of a very different sort. Grievous's gold eyes went wide. 

"What have you done?" he asked. His voice was harsh - harsher than usual, at least. He sounded horrified. 

Obi-Wan smiled pleasantly. He spread his hands out on the metal tabletop, feeling the chill of it beneath his palms; Grievous recoiled at that, as best he could while magnetised in place. 

"You're feeling what I feel," Obi-Wan said, then with a wave of his hand that connection was gone again. "And now you're not." He stood. He turned to the door, and he glanced back over his shoulder. "If you answer my questions, we can do this again," he said. And then he left, while Grievous attempted to glare a hole into his back. He had a feeling that his plan might work, and all he'd have to do was persevere.

He returned the following day: he re-established that connection and he asked him his first question, and then he quickly closed it off again. Grievous glared, but he didn't answer. 

He returned the next day: he re-established the connection and he asked him that same question, and then he quickly closed it off again. Grievous glared, his pupils wide and hungry, but he didn't answer. 

He returned the next day, too: he re-established the connection and he asked that question yet again. He left the connection open but he remained completely still, only the motion of his breath and the blinking of his eyes excepted. Grievous watched him, silently.

"Don't you miss this?" Obi-Wan asked. He raised his hands; he ran the fingertips of one against the palm of the other, just lightly, and then he laced his fingers together and leaned forward against the table, on his elbows. He let Grievous feel the way he moved, feel words in his mouth, feel his breath and the way his toes pressed down to the soles of his boots. He let him feel everything that he did, things that Grievous hadn't felt in years, until he waved away the connection. Grievous tensed at that, but he didn't say a word. 

He returned the day after, with a citrus fruit there in one hand. Grievous watched him toss it in the air and turn it all around with careful application of the Force, then bring it down and peel it slowly. Grievous watched him pull apart the fragrant segments. He watched him eat. And when Obi-Wan finally looked at him, with the last segment of the fruit held in his hand, when he asked his first and also simplest question, Grievous growled out loud then answered him. 

"That's good," Obi-Wan said, as Grievous glared. "That's a start, at least." 

And then, as promised, he raised up the connection by way of his reward. He sat back and closed his eyes and smelled the fragrance of the fruit that lingered on the air. He raised the segment up and he licked away a drop or two of tangy juice. Then he ate, making sure to savour the sweet-sharp flavour and the texture of the juice sacs bursting on his tongue before he swallowed. He felt Grievous's enjoyment as a disconcerting undercurrent to his own. Then he disconnected. 

"We'll begin again tomorrow," he said, as he stood, and all Grievous did was stare, evidently shaken. In that moment, Obi-Wan knew he had him. 

The following day, he ate a different fruit. The day after that, he touched everything there was in the room, gripped the back of his chair in his hands, ran his fingers over the rough stone surface of the walls. The following day, he pulled up his sleeves and he blew cool air across his forearms till the hairs stood up and he shivered with it, and he felt the mental shiver in Grievous's response. When he asked his questions, Grievous answered. He didn't seem like he wanted to; it seemed much more like he _needed_ to. 

Obi-Wan had been right - Grievous _had_ missed it. He couldn't help but feel that.

The questions Obi-Wan asked became steadily harder to answer. The questions he asked had answers they both knew were of steadily greater importance to the Separatist cause. And still, each day, when Obi-Wan returned, when he stepped into that room deep down beneath the Temple, Grievous answered him. Every living fibre of him, of the parts that remained, screamed he wished he could say no, but he told him everything despite that. Obi-Wan wished that he could feel compassion for him, for that need in him that he'd been the one to instigate, but Grievous would only have laughed.

That first week became two, and two became three. Obi-Wan pinched the soft web between his thumb and forefinger, raked his nails over his skin, bit his lip and reminded Grievous what that kind of momentary flash of pain was like. He ran his fingers through his hair, ran his palms over his face and beard, trailed his fingertips over his throat to the collar of his tunic, and he reminded Grievous what having those things had felt like. But there was more to ask, and the price Obi-Wan paid had to be higher every time. 

When the Separatists under Admiral Trench attacked the 501st not far from Naboo, Obi-Wan went straight to Grievous. 

"If I tell you how to defeat him, I'll need more," Grievous said. "I want something I've never felt before." 

The lives of his old padawan and the troops in the battalion were worth that to him, Obi-Wan thought, so he agreed and Grievous told him. When his plan succeeded, Obi-Wan returned; that night, he closed his eyes and reached out to the Force and when he felt it, in that moment so did Grievous. They both held up their end of the deal; Grievous had certainly never felt that before. In the Force, Obi-Wan could feel how he enjoyed it.

With the next save, Obi-Wan let him feel it when he lit his lightsaber for sparring practice in the training hall, and watched the baffled look on Anakin's face when he switched his usual defensive style for his old favourite: the leaps of twists of Ataru. He could feel Grievous's enjoyment of it spread through him. That just made him fight a little harder still. 

With the next save, Obi-Wan let him feel it when he showered in his quarters. He removed his clothes with their link established and then he stepped in underneath the spray, and he knew that Grievous hadn't felt warm water on his skin for years. He took his time, much more time than usual, all palms and fingertips and the rough weave of the cloth he used, the clean smell of soap, shampoo in his hair that ran down and stung his eyes. He ran one hand between his legs and try as he might to forget the link they shared, he felt a dark flicker of interest in Grievous's mind. He didn't follow it. He left the shower and he dried himself instead. 

Over the weeks and months, even if his information is in some cases outdated, General Grievous has proved to be one of the Republic's most valuable assets. He will only talk to Obi-Wan. Only Obi-Wan knows why.

Tonight, information Grievous gave them has led to the destruction of a secret Separatist base on a moon not very far from Alderaan. Anakin and the 501st have destroyed it and rescued a captive senator in the process. It's time for Grievous's reward. He enters the room and he locks the door. He leans back against it.

"Was I right?" Grievous asks. 

"Yes, it seems you were," Obi-Wan replies, and somehow, watching him across the room, Grievous manages to seem smug about that even without a face to house the expression. 

"So I get my reward?" Grievous asks. 

Obi-Wan nods curtly. "Yes," he replies. "That was the deal we made." 

He takes a breath and he summons the by now quite familiar connection. He feels it more acutely now, somehow, after months have passed - if he concentrates, he can feel the lack of feeling inside Grievous, how there is no sensation in him, only an artificially enhanced awareness of where the artificial parts of him have been positioned. Grievous's mind is two parts rage and one part calculated equilibrium. 

Obi-Wan moves. He steps closer to the table but he doesn't go to it; he stops short, and he removes his cloak, and he drapes it over the back of his chair. He grips it for a moment, feeling the coarse material and feeling Grievous feel it, too, and then he turns his attention to his belt, and then his tunic. He strips to the waist, slowly but surely, feeling the way that Grievous looks at him. Grievous hates him, that much is evident and has been from the very start, but that's not the only thing that's in his eyes. 

He stands on the seat of the chair. He steps up onto the table. Then he goes down on his knees in front of Grievous, the toes of his boots curled under, his knees almost touching Grievous's magnetised hands. 

"Closer," Grievous rasps, so Obi-Wan shuffles closer, until his knees do touch Grievous's metal hands. Then he shoves his trousers down over his hips, exposing himself from head to mid-thigh. He feels colour rising in his cheeks. He sees Grievous's gaze stray down between his thighs. He shouldn't do this, no, but this was their deal - he runs one hand down and wraps it snug around his cock. He's already halfway to erection. The rest of the way does not take long at all. 

When he strokes himself, he can feel Grievous feeling it. When he squeezes, when he pinches his foreskin up over the head, when he rubs his thumb against the tip, he can feel Grievous feeling it. Grievous was never human and Obi-Wan knows that, and over time he's also come to know that what and how he feels is different to Kaleesh sensation. He's come to know that when he strokes himself, his human feeling inside the brain of a Kaleesh is overwhelming. He's been overstimulating him for months. Occasionally, it has the same effect on him in turn.

He strokes himself, slowly, base to tip, and reaches down with his free hand to squeeze his balls. He palms the head of his cock and Grievous groans out loud with it. Then he licks two fingers wetly and he reaches back behind himself and Grievous's groan comes to a sudden, abrupt end when he rubs his fingertips between his cheeks, against his hole. This is the first time Obi-Wan has done this in the room with him, but Grievous knows how Obi-Wan's body feels; last time, his reward was an hour connected with Obi-Wan alone in bed. For Obi-Wan, it was almost like he was there with him. Sometimes, he thinks he might have liked that.

Grievous watches. Grievous feels every move that he makes, every shift of his hips, every stroke of his hand. And the link they have works in both direction: Obi-Wan feels what Grievous feels, inside his mind. Grievous hates him, but he desires him, and the feedback loop of that feeling passed between them in the Force is pure electricity. It makes Obi-Wan shiver, and Grievous feels it. It makes Obi-Wan's cock fill just a fraction harder, and Grievous feels that, too. It's like Grievous's hand is around his cock and not his own. It makes his breath short and his pulse race and his muscles tighten, makes him tense and bite his lip and when he comes, inevitably, over his hand and the tabletop, he feels that Grievous feels it and it's almost more than he can stand. Human and Kaleesh were never meant to be compatible. 

It's a long moment till he's able to move. It's another long moment till he's able to rearrange his clothes. The connection still buzzes between them. Every time they do something like this, he can feel it's only getting stronger; there is no part of Grievous still remaining that can feel, except when Obi-Wan feels for him. 

"We'll pick this up again tomorrow," Obi-Wan says, as he wipes his semen from the table with a handkerchief fished a pouch at his belt, as he acts as if what they just did means nothing, and then he turns to leave. He waves off the connection. 

Grievous chuckles lowly. "I think you like it too much not to, Jedi," he replies, and Obi-Wan looks back at him, one eyebrow quirked.

"Don't make me test that, Grievous," he says. "What would you do if I didn't come back, hmm?"

Grievous tilts his head but doesn't say another word, and they both know it's all just posturing because this isn't going to stop. They're in too deep. Obi-Wan just has to wonder what happens when, inevitably, Grievous is exhausted as a source of information. 

He would like to feel compassion for him, but he can't. Qymaen jai Sheelal is gone and now all there is is Grievous, who does not feel compassion and who still wants him dead. There's just something else that he wants more.

They're both using each other. As he closes the door, Obi-Wan wants to believe he can live with that.


End file.
